


entangled, upon Him

by qlexy



Series: my grief into psalms. [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode 1x11, Other, Paganism, Religious Symbolism, Sam Winchester the Monsterfucker, Situational Dubcon, could be a strawdick who knows he prefers to ignore it and so do I, grossly inaccurate portrayals of pagan gods probably, if scarecrows aren't part of your kink arsenal after this I'm taking personal offense, pls don't get mad at me, religious worship, this is an AU this is NOT how the episode went even if we all wish it had, writing this is a whole new level of hell and I hate myself more than you do promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qlexy/pseuds/qlexy
Summary: Sam makes a personal sacrifice to save himself and Dean when the Scarecrow corners them.ORIf episode 1.11 of Supernatural had aired on HBO.





	entangled, upon Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintsurvivor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/gifts).



It had been a stupid plan, really. 

 

Surely the most reckless one he had to date, he was certain of it. 

 

But there was only a split second of decision, a moment of tense hesitation and as a hunter you knew that life was brief and death was that much briefer so Sam did the only thing that he could think of, the only thing he knew  _ worked _ and of course it had been foolish, but Dean hadn’t known what he was about to do and had accepted his wordless “Trust me” with relief because it meant that Sam had a plan, meant that Sam wasn’t lost like him. 

 

Dean would reconsider that assumption had he only  _ realised. _

 

He had jumped into action a little too eagerly, thrown himself into the dirt before the Vanir with such practised devoutness that it surprised even him and what he felt now, pinned under a God, an ancient Deity that tasted like old power and magic and the sour acid of apples yet to be harvested, was pure, utter bliss. 

 

And Sam knew he had offered himself up as bait, to distract and divert because he had read, once, that to give yourself meant to live and their survival, it was key, it was  _ everything _ \- gifting Dean those precious few minutes to find the tree and save them but now he wondered if his curiosity, this insatiable thirst for  _ knowledge  _ was what led him here in the first place, bare and open with Divinity inside of him. 

 

He felt impossibly full, complete in a way he hadn’t found desirable until this moment, stretched wide around a cock whose corporeality he opted to ignore and held up against this creature, this  _ God _ with all the strength of the supernatural. 

 

Sam wouldn’t deny the thrill running through him at the thought, his nerves suddenly on fire when the  _ reality _ of it hit him - something so powerful, carved of blood and bones and flesh that sacrifices like him had unwillingly given and how it blinded against the soft touches and smooth caresses, like he was something delicate, something beautiful. 

 

As if the Vanir had listened to his thoughts, it responded, its voice a low, dark rasp with that boom of otherness Sam would fear on every other day but this one: 

“You are our sacrifice, loved one, ours to love, ours to cherish, ours to worship because you have freely given yourself to us, do not forget. This is your gift, this is your promise. As you give to us, we give to you.”

 

How it could speak to him with its mouth sewed shut, he did not know and it didn’t seem so urgent, not when this was sweet submersion in a sea of what he imagined to be divine grace. 

 

Deeply buried inside was the knowledge that this was bad, this was wrong and that he should be longing for Dean to rescue him from this fate, bespoken to a random tribe of Pagan deities but Sam could not deny that the shiver running down his spine, that which curled so deliciously in the grooves of his skin was anything but stemmed in the horror of it all. 

 

What he truly wished for was for Dean to take his sweet, sweet time. 

 

This, this was what it must be like to be in proximity of the divine and Sam felt a sudden, deep understanding bloom inside his chest for all those Pagan worshippers of the long-forgotten past because if he had to give his life for the touch of a God, he would not have hesitated to do so willingly. 

 

Sam was breathing raggedly now, sighs and whimpers falling from his lips with every thrust of the hip the Vanir granted and even if his face hadn’t been upturned with gentle pressure, Sam would not have been able to avert his gaze from those pitch-black holes, those bottomless, twisted pits that were neither eyes nor the lack of them. 

 

If Sam had to name them, he’d call them  _ energy _ . 

 

Sam was crying, praying, worshipping, but the  _ “Please” _ had barely even touched his lips when his God halted as sudden as he had begun and then, Sam was left empty, lowered to the ground but not let go of. 

 

And this felt wrong, he was close, so close and what mattered even more, maybe, was that he had yet to satisfy his God and that’s what finally drew the pleas from his mouth, a  _ please, let me - _ and then another. But he was silenced with a simple gesture and knew immediately to obey. 

 

“You beg so beautifully”, the Vanir assured him and Sam couldn’t quite help the swell of his chest at such words of praise. 

 

It was only a moment later that the sharp smell of burning wood wafted in their direction and Sam was  _ afraid _ . 

 

“We will find you, loved one, for we are many. And when the time has come, you will welcome us for you recognise the ones that claimed you”, he whispered, that ancient God, and Sam gasped as the tension in his body tightened unbearably and then released. 

 

His God went up in blinding flames, the heat of them licking at Sam's skin but not close enough to sear -  _ protected, he was protected, he knew _ \- swallowing his strangled sobs as he spilled all over himself, shaking and stumbling to the cold damp ground beneath with nothing to aid him as support. 

 

Dean’s increasingly worried shouts of his name only got through to him much, much later, when the dreamy fog in his head cleared and the air was crisp once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I was sorry but I've resigned myself to this fate. I won't pay for emotional compensation or brain bleach but my lawyers _will_ take your call.


End file.
